


Something Thrown Together

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Motorcycles, Mutual Pining, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There it goes again, with the heart beating and the nervous sweating and the absolute distress. This was going to take a little getting used to. Akaashi wasn’t even especially attractive, but crouching there beside his bike in Bokuto’s ghostly white jacket, the embroidery transformed in the moonlight into something more elegant than “The Wisdom of an Ace”, he looked like something out of a fairytale.
--
Bokuto breaks Kuroo's bike so he introduces him to Akaashi.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Months later I post my old SASO 2016 fills that I somehow still like, even if they don't make sense. Please enjoy this Motorcycle AU oneshot.
> 
> I clearly know nothing about motorcycles.

Kuroo's bike was an amalgam of so many different parts from so many different brands that you couldn't really call it one thing or another. Originally, it had been carved out of the frame of a skeletal Suzuki, one that'd been dredged up from a river and sold to a friend of a friend of a friend's store for dirt cheap and sold to Kuroo for way more than it was actually worth. He'd loved bikes for as long as he could remember, loved the sense of freedom they imbued. By the time his parents had that knock-down-drag-out fight when he was 13, he figured enough was enough. He needed to get out for a while, and in his eyes, the only way to get that was to get on a bike. His bike.

Since then, he'd been scrounging up parts from yard sales, jerry rigging bits he'd found in autobike graveyards and haggling with shady dealers for parts with every last bit of his allowance - anything to get the bike working. The one upside to his parents’ tumultuous divorce - he got twice the allowance he usually did. The other upside, if you could call it that, was that his parent’s didn’t give a shit about what he did during his spare time, as long as he didn’t get in trouble with the cops. By 14, he had a working (if in only the loosest sense of the word) bike, and by 15 he could almost call it road worthy. The only reason he lived to get his license, probably, was because Kenma was an ace with a blowtorch. In all senses of the word.

Kenma never agreed with his definition of "fun," but no matter where Kuroo went, he was always two steps behind, if only to play rotary crew. He'd been fine with leaving Kuroo to his devices, stepping in only to weld one thing to another at Kuroo's incessant begging, until the dumbass made a few wrong decisions that nearly got his ass killed. To be honest, it hadn't even been that bad, but it was enough to leave Kuroo's shitty frankenbike under construction for another two months and its rider out of commission for a good three. To be fair, though, if it wasn't for The Incident, Kuroo wouldn't have met Bokuto. As luck would have it, Kuroo had been stuck in a hospital room for a week with possibly the only other guy in Tokyo to have as big of a hard-on for revved engines and the smell of exhaust as he did.

It's been a year since Kuroo had met Bokuto, and months since Bokuto started asking Kuroo on rides with him and the rest of the Fukurodani gang. Although Kuroo was a bit gang-shy, he was always happy to ride alongside Bokuto, even if his thrown-together cafe racer could never hold a candle to Bokuto's shiny Ninja. It would've been a cause for jealousy if Kuroo wasn't a better person and if Bokuto wasn't always so fascinated by the frankenbike. “It’s incredible!” Bokuto had said once, in a voice filled with awe as he smoothed down a wrinkled decal stuck onto a second-hand part Kuroo had just installed. For some reason, the offhand compliment had made Kuroo’s chest swell with something a little more than pride. 

Said bike enthusiast was currently staring down at Kuroo's bike as if he had no idea what to do with it, exactly. Kuroo trusted no one with his bike - not necessarily for the bike's sake, but for the rider’s sake. Even if it was 100% DMV certified roadworthy and fast as the devil, Kuroo's seen the thing break down enough times from their inexpert upgrades that he didn’t want to trust anyone with it. And anyways, there was a sort of pride that a man had for the things he loved, and although Kuroo recognized that his bike wasn’t all that reliable, he didn’t need other people to know it, too. Aside from Kenma, Bokuto was the first person he’d ever let ride it. 

After weeks of begging and pleading and whinging and whining, Kuroo finally agreed to let Bokuto do a test run. They’d made recent upgrades to the shocks - that was why they were even out here on this empty mountain pass in the first place - and Kuroo did want to get a second rider, one more experienced with high-quality suspension systems, to give it a run through. 

Bokuto had only gone maybe a few hundred meters before the bike suddenly, abruptly, just stopped. He hadn’t even been able to turn the bend that would’ve brought him out of sight, and both Kuroo and Kenma were witness to the way he scrambled off the bike, took one look over, and then crumpled in despair. Even if his upgrades shouldn’t have had anything to do with the bike’s movement, the bike itself was a delicate organism. No one knew how the newest part would affect the rest of the damn thing, and out of the three of them, Bokuto was the least familiar with the frequency at which Kuroo’s bike just… didn’t work. He’d only ever seen it when it was riding its best, rough and powerful in a way that got your blood burning regardless of whether or not you were on it. No wonder he panicked.

"I-I'M SORRYYY!" Bokuto wailed, bashing his head down to the gravelly road in the most… enthusiastic dogeza Kuroo had ever seen. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT YOUR BIKE WON’T MOVE ANYMORE I DESTROYED IT I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET YOU LET ME TOUCH IT I’M THE WORST FRIEND IN THE HISTORY OF EVERYTHING!!”

Honestly, Kuroo was more surprised that Bokuto was able to say that all in one breath of air than he was that the bike wasn’t working. 

Kuroo gave Kenma a look, which was promptly completely ignored in favor of drowning out the noise with the bleep-bloops of a game on his cellphone. With a sigh, Kuroo took a step closer to the immobile bike, taking a long, appraising look. "The shocks are fine," Kenma said, flicking his eyes up for a moment, before returning to his game. "It shouldn't have affected your bike's movement; just how comfortable it would be to ride. We installed it about as close to manufacturer's instruction as possible. Check somewhere else."

Bokuto made a small, high-pitched whining sound, a siren to warn a forthcoming storm. "But I already diiiiiid," he bawled, gesturing dramatically at the bike.

"Not really, if you missed this," Kuroo sighed, holding up a slack chain. It'd slipped the sprocket and from the looks of it, it had needed to be replaced several (hundred) kilometers ago. "I can't believe I forgot to replace this damn thing," he said, with an annoyed huff.

"You said you'd replace it after you got the new suspension in and never got around to it," Kenma supplied, his words punctuated by tiny explosion sounds on his game.

"Yes, right," Kuroo added drily. "I forgot."

"I know someone who can help you out with a discount!!!" Bokuto volunteered, perking right up at the opportunity to be useful. "He's the best!"

"Fukurodani?" Kuroo asked, suspicious.

"Nope! He's not affiliated, but most of us go to him, so I mean, sort of? But he helps everyone!" Bokuto assured him with a grin. "He's got the keys to his dad's garage so we can probably sneak it in. It won't take more than half an hour, I promise! His uncle owns a parts shop so like he’s got access to all sorts of cool stuff!"

"Yeah, if we can get it there. Kenma's car can't hold my bike.”

“I can get a buddy to tow, free of charge! Washio owes me big from that last mahjong game,” Bokuto exclaimed, looking more excited at the prospect of fixing Kuroo’s bike then Kuroo was. 

Kuroo worried at his lip, looking anxiously at Kenma. As much as it would be great to get his sprockets done and ready to go by tomorrow… he didn’t exactly have the money to have his bike professionally serviced. He and Kenma did everything on their own, usually, with help from their good old friend the internet. Every last yen Kuroo got from his part time job went into making this bike work, so that he could keep going to his part time job and keep feeding his bike obsession.

Bokuto’s smile began to wane as the silence drew on longer and longer, until finally Kenma huffed a long sigh. Glancing up at Kuroo, he reasoned, “You’ve still got leftover money from the deal you made with Taketora, right? I’ll pitch in a little extra and with a decent discount we should be able to cover it. Sprockets and chains are an easy fix, and having a professional do it means that we don’t have to go scavenging for something that’ll fit your godawful bike.”

“ _Kenma_ ,” Kuroo whispered, hand pressed against his chest. If he didn’t already know that Kenma would throw a fit if he tried, he would’ve hugged him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Kenma mumbled, face reddening. “It’s just this once, okay? You need to get to work somehow, don’t you?”

Kuroo nodded, turning to Bokuto. “Okay, I guess you can call your friend.”

~~~

Washio was a big guy. Bokuto had killed time waiting for him by telling Kuroo and Kenma stories about his friends, but when Bokuto said “big”, Kuroo hadn’t expected this big. The man was just straight-up physically intimidating, and this was coming from someone who was practically 190cm. 

Not that Bokuto noticed in the least. He acted like they were brothers, teasing and joking the stone-faced stranger. The first thing, the _only_ thing he said, after Bokuto had introduced them was, “So _this_ is the guy you’ve been riding with at night.”

The statement made Bokuto freeze, face flushing red. He couldn’t look at Kuroo for more than a glance at a time, and quickly changed the subject. “So, uh, you know how I spotted you that one time when you played Mahjong with the guys?”

A blank stare.

“And, you know, you totally won?”

A blank stare.

“Well, you never paid me back, so I’m pulling in the favor. Kuroo needs a tow to Akaashi’s place, and Kenma’s car doesn’t have anything you can attach a tow bar to. Can we get it in the back of your truck?”

A blank stare. Kuroo had a strange feeling of deja vu, like he was trying to hold a conversation with Fukunaga again, only this time Fukunaga is his height, if not taller, and looks like he could kill three men with his bare hands. Washio wasn’t even looking at him, and it made him nervous.

With a sigh, Washio finally made a motion to walk the bike over, and Kuroo let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Bokuto sent a huge grin and a thumbs up over at Kuroo, and Kuroo could only shake his head in fond exasperation. This boy would be the death of him.

In no time, they got the bike up on the rig, Bokuto hopped into the cab of Washio’s truck, and Kuroo followed Kenma back to Kenma’s tiny little car. They followed Washio’s truck through the empty streets of suburban Tokyo, until they reached an older neighborhood. Here, the buildings were simpler, a little more industrial. Kuroo felt… well, he didn’t feel safe here - he’d be an idiot to feel safe in a strange and slightly run-down neighborhood - but he certainly felt more comfortable here than he would’ve been if Bokuto had taken him to one of the more glamorous hot-spots for bikers like them.

Without much fanfare, Washio unloaded the bike and left for home. Kuroo couldn’t blame him; judging by his dirty construction uniform, and the general smell of dried sweat, Washio had probably just gotten off work when he’d been so _kindly_ interrupted by Bokuto’s favor-calling.

“Wait here!” Bokuto hissed at Kuroo and, by extension, Kenma. It was close to 11pm already, but there was a light up on the second floor of the house, and through the window, Kuroo could see the someone in the window beside the tree. The tree that Bokuto was approaching. The tree that Bokuto hopped onto and began climbing like a monkey. Kenma shot a withering glare up at Kuroo, as if to say _What the fuck_. As if on cue, the person in the window startled badly, crashed to the ground, and then slammed their - his - window up to scold Bokuto for showing up like a ghost in the middle of the night.

Clinging to the shaking tree branch with his thighs, Bokuto made a few placating gestures and pointed down at Kuroo’s bike. From where Kuroo and Kenma were, they could easily make out how Bokuto prostrated himself before the other boy in increasingly embarrassing movements, until he finally motioned for Bokuto to hop into his room. This, Bokuto did with gusto, scrambling into the window with a gesture at Kuroo and Kenma that probably meant something like _Wait There_ , but neither of them were actually sure if that really was what he meant. To be honest, it mostly just looked like a very enthusiastic flail.

After about a minute of standing around awkwardly, the door finally swung open, revealing a messy-haired boy, still in his pajamas and a long white coat, and Bokuto. “Kuroo, Kenma, this is Akaashi - Fukurodani’s go-to guy for repairs and parts! Akaashi, this is Kuroo, and that’s his friend Kenma. And that’s his bike, Franchesca. Do you think you could do anything about it?”

Somehow, it felt like Akaashi moved in slow motion. Or maybe Kuroo was moving in slow motion. Either way, from the moment Akaashi flicked his pitch-dark eyes up at Kuroo, he was gone. Akaashi had been trying to say something for the past minute or so, but all Kuroo could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, and before he knew it, only one thing tumbled out of his dumb-struck mouth: “That’s Bokuto’s riding jacket.”

Like the snap of a rubber band, everything sped forward, and Akaashi fixed Kuroo with a strange look not unlike one of Kenma’s bewildered glares. “Yes. He forgot it here. We should get back to the issue at hand, because I have an early morning tomorrow. You’ve got an issue with the chain and sprocket, yes?”

“Uh. Um, yeah,” Kuroo said, unable to keep his eyes off of Akaashi’s face, even as they got into the inner workings of “Franchesca,” or whatever Bokuto had started calling his frankenbike. As they talked, Kuroo was able to rattle off every single detail about the bike, occasionally supplemented by additional details from Kenma, but everything was stuck in autopilot. All he could think about was _Bokuto has a boyfriend his boyfriend is hot I’m so screwed_ at varying levels of distress.

“Your bike,” Akaashi started, once he finally got down to take a good look at Kuroo’s bike, “is incredible.” There it goes again, with the heart beating and the nervous sweating and the absolute distress. This was going to take a little getting used to. Akaashi wasn’t even especially attractive, but crouching there beside his bike in Bokuto’s ghostly white jacket, the embroidery transformed in the moonlight into something more elegant than “The Wisdom of an Ace”, he looked like something out of a fairytale.

The spell was broken by Bokuto, who preened at Akaashi’s praise as if it were rightfully his. “It totally is, isn’t it?” Bokuto purred, oblivious to Kuroo’s uncomfortable staring. His chest was puffed up with pride as if it were his bike he was showing off, not Kuroo’s. “You should see all the crazy shit Kenma put in it! Konoha would have a blast looking at this thing.”

“Yes, and I’m going to have an aneurysm giving this thing an inspection,” Akaashi retorted drily.

“It, uh. It only needs the chain and sprocket,” Kuroo interrupted, licking his dry lips. Even dumbstruck as he was, he knew the limits of his bank account and he knew that he couldn’t afford a full inspection. Akaashi blinked owlishly up at him, looking like he was considering saying something. However, before he could get a word in edge-wise, Bokuto chirped, “If you let him look at all of it he’ll give you an extra big discount.”

“I did not say that,” Akaashi snapped, but there was a look on his face like he’d been caught. “Please refrain from doing my business for me, Bokuto-san.”

“Aww come on, he’s a good buddy! Give him a discount. I’ll owe you somethin’ big, I promise,” Bokuto grinned, squatting down to eye level. “And anyways, it’s super obvious you want to take it apart and put it back together. You’ve got that look in your eye and it doesn’t fool me one bit.”

Akaashi’s face scrunched up in such a familiar expression of disdain that Kuroo had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. The expression was mirrored by Kenma, who’d been watching Kuroo the entire time. His face screamed _I know what you’re thinking about and you should be ashamed_.

Biting his lip as he considered the proposal, Akaashi looked up at Kuroo with those infuriatingly sharp eyes. “You’re the one who’s been riding with Bokuto lately, right?”

“Uh. Yes,” Kuroo blinked. With Akaashi’s eyes focused only on him, Kuroo couldn’t seem to process anything else. Even Bokuto’s embarrassed wail of “ _Akaashi!_ ” slipped through his mind as easily as the crickets chirping around them. 

“You’ll protect him, yes?” Akaashi asked, and this felt like a test, it felt like a test, but Kuroo couldn’t see any other answer but,

“Yes. Of course. With my life.”

Akashi seemed placated by his words, and it was only after he’d answered that Kuroo recognized how alarmingly intimate the question was. Before he could dwell too hard on it, though, Akaashi continued on. “I’ll change out your sprockets and chain for the cost of the parts if you’ll let me do a close inspection of your bike. I won’t do anything with it except change out the sprockets, and I won’t let anyone else touch it but me. Any and all the data I collect from your bike will be privy only to me and Bokuto-san. Is that agreeable?”

“Uh,” Kuroo stammered, looking at Kenma for approval. Kenma was fiddling with his phone again, and didn’t deign to look back up at Kuroo. “Uh, yeah. Sure. That’s, uh. That’s really great!”

“Excellent. You can pick your bike up around 5:00 tomorrow. Is that alright?” Akaashi asked, businesslike.

Kuroo went through his schedule for tomorrow in his head. He’d need a ride to work from Kenma and a ride here, but that’d be an easy enough bribe. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

~~~

It’s not Kenma, but Bokuto that comes to pick him up just before the end of his shift at the little hole in the wall, home-style cooking restaurant he works at. “I wanna get a side order of nanohana no karashiae to go, please,” he grins, stomping into the restaurant smelling of diesel and still in his motorcycle gear.

“I didn’t peg you for a vegetables kind of guy,” Kuroo teased. “Gimme ten and I’ll make some on the house. I’m sure Chisae-san wouldn’t mind.”

It takes him a good fifteen minutes and some change to get the dish out to Bokuto waiting in the reception area and get out of his uniform. “You gonna get me to Akaashi’s?”

“Yeah. I already stopped by to let Kenma know,” Bokuto grinned, passing a spare helmet and some disposable earplugs to him. Kuroo took them gratefully and put them on. When he wrapped his arms tight around Bokuto’s torso, he could feel the other boy tense underneath his motorcycle armor. His cheeks were flushed, but he had a huge grin on his face. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

~~~

In the light of the day, the garage under Akaashi’s home was bustling with mechanics. “Kou-kun, over here!” a tall man with narrow eyes called.

“Akaashi-san!” Bokuto grinned, bounding over. Ah. It must’ve been Akaashi’s father, then. They looked nothing alike.

Kuroo awkwardly followed after Bokuto, feeling entirely out of place here. 

“Is this pain-in-the-ass Kuroo-san?” Akaashi’s father asked, a sly smile on his face. He did the thing, the eye thing, the thing that pinned Kuroo down with just a glance. All of a sudden, Kuroo could see the resemblance, and all he could say was an awkward, “Uh.”

The nickname absolutely slayed Bokuto, who was struck with a fit of uproarious laughter for a good few minutes. With a conspiratorial grin, Akaashi’s father leaned into Kuroo’s space as if he were sharing a secret and said, “Keiji’s been glaring at your bike all day. I found him at four in the morning last night, just scribbling down notes on it. Your bike really is a piece of work; I’ve never seen him so fascinated before.”

Straightening up, the man slapped Bokuto on the back with a wide grin. “Keiji’s in the backroom, if you’re looking for him. Don’t tell him I told you about the nickname. I don’t think he’d ever live it down.”

“Thank you, Akaashi-san!” Bokuto crowded, grabbing hold of Kuroo’s forearm and dragging him to the back. He shoved the to-go box into Kuroo’s hands and rapped on the door. He didn’t even wait for Akaashi’s approval to burst in.

The back was much, much quieter than out in front. With only Akaashi here, it was almost silent, if not for the sound of his fingers running through rumpled sheets of paper. They found him sitting on the floor beside Kuroo’s bike, his fingers covered in black grime. He was glaring down at the notes scattered all around him, as if trying to solve a problem.

“Your bike makes no sense. It shouldn’t work, but it does,” Akaashi said, not even bothering to look up at his intruders. “It makes no sense, but it makes perfect sense. It’s brilliant. I don’t even know how two amateurs like you could put this thing together.”

“What can I say? Kenma’s an ace with a blowtorch,” Kuroo remarked, startling Akaashi into looking up at him.

“None of Fukurodani’s bikes are even close to this heavily modded. Not even the few Itachiyama boys who stop by. You’ve essentially built this bike up from the ground.” There’s something odd in the catch of his voice, and Kuroo wanted very badly to think that it was something like awe. Akaashi pushed himself up from the floor and gestured at Kuroo’s bike. “I’ve replaced the sprockets, as promised. Dad will ring you up before you leave.”

With a frown, he looked down at the little to-go box in Kuroo’s hands. “What’s that?”

“A snack! Kuroo brought it for you from the restaurant,” Bokuto piped in, grinning.

“I, what?” Kuroo asked, shooting a bewildered look in Bokuto’s direction, even as he passed the box over to Akaashi. The boy wiped the worst of the grime on his fingers onto his jumpsuit and opened up the box.

“Oh,” he’d said, and _oh_ , thumped Kuroo’s heart. The way Akaashi completely relaxed at the sight of a little box of leafy greens turned Kuroo’s legs to jelly. His eyes flicked up at Kuroo, before looking right back down to close the box. His lip caught between his teeth, and he looked to be considering something very intensely.

“You can take Fran - you can take your bike whenever you want,” Akaashi said, still not looking up at Kuroo. “But, could you. Do you - You should come back, sometime. I’ll give you a discount,” he said, all at once.

“Uh. Yeah, sure,” Kuroo responded, absolutely, completely dumbstruck.


End file.
